His Happily Ever After
by Mac-alicious
Summary: Edwin is convinced he is doomed to unhappiness because the one person who could give him his happily ever after is about to walk down the aisle with another man. Sequel to Careful What You Wish For. Rated for language and implied sexual content.
1. Only The Beginning

**A/N: **This is my 50th Life with Derek story. I actually feel accomplished just starting this. This is technically a sequel to my other multi-chap story Careful What You Wish For. Well, that's a broad term to use…sequel. This is plays out in the world outside of the "dream" That encompasses most of Careful What You Wish For. For example, this chapter starts in the same setting that CWYWF leaves off (Nora and George's anniversary party) and continues from there. This is different because there is no wish or supernatural alternate realities or anything that made up CWYWF. It's also styled differently. It's in present tense and from Edwin's point of view. It's also a bit of a step up in maturity level and topics—including language (I gave Ed quite the potty mouth) and possibly adult situations (but we'll see what comes up and I'll leave warnings if necessary). I make the assumption, that Casey shares the story of her "dream" and experiences from CWYWF with Derek, Edwin, Lizzie, and Marti as a romantic little thing (in the air of a "meet-cute" tale). It only makes an appearance once or twice and it might not be brought up again later in the story. Again, the only real connection to CWYWF is that the characterizations of Casey, Derek, Lizzie, Eric, Marti, and the kids revolve around what they were in CWYWF. But honestly, this could most likely stand alone in most ways. Anyway, enjoy the chapter and vote in my poll about my next multi-chapter fic if you would like to see yet another LWD multi-chapter when I have completed my few in progress stories. R&R! Thanks! –Mac

**Disclaimer: **I don't own LWD.

**Chapter One**

**Only the Beginning**

Is there a saying 'always the groomsman, never the groom?' Cause if there is, then I would be the prime candidate for its poster boy. I am always standing on the sidelines of other people's love stories, and I keep thinking to myself: when does mine start?

Everyone knows about my brother Derek and how he ended up marrying our stepsister, Casey. No, they don't know the story because it's such an unusual pairing (though if they have met the two, they would still have found it odd that they were even compatible). They know the story because it played out like some cheesy romance novel. Casey, ever the romantic, claimed that the night she was devastated by her high school sweetheart, Sam—also Derek's best friend—she had the most vivid dream, one that almost seemed real. In this alleged dream of hers, she supposedly lived out days of an alternative future—one where she was married to Sam, had a kid, was cheated on and pushed Derek out of her life before she realized she loved him and he had been the only one who was there for her through the fifteen years she fast forwarded through. Upon that realization, she was awoken, back in her teenage body, back on the day where she would have to make a choice to change that future or subject herself to years of torment. She still says she isn't sure if it was real or all a dream. Now that was a great story to tell everyone, but I have never believed it. I've always thought it was Casey's way of excusing the fact that she was in love with her stepbrother. But not matter what the cause of their sudden whirlwind romance, that is how I found myself in a tux once again, watching another couple tie the knot and prance off into the proverbial sunset, while I sat alone wondering why I was never so fortunate. Never in a million years did I ever think my brother, the womanizing cad (Casey's words, not mine), would settle down before me. Made me wonder what the world was coming to.

Also made me a bit cynical, if you can tell.

Then there are my Dad and Nora. While their story is more subtle—no supernatural dreams in this one—their happily ever after that's spanned years and years and years, is no less aggravating to me. Supposedly in Casey's dream, they got a divorce and never spoke again—in the real world, they're still plowing on together, very much in love. This brings me to today. They're celebrating another anniversary.

Oh, happy day. (See what I told you about being cynical. I'm happy for them, of course. But I'm kinda preoccupied with my own self-pity at the moment).

It's been a great day so far. I've gotten to see my Dad and Nora be justifiably lovely-dovey for hours on end. Casey has announced that she's pregnant, _again_—bringing hers and Derek's offspring count to three (which doesn't help me much because it's given my Dad and Nora renewed reason to inquire about when I'm going to settle down and work on giving them more grandchildren. Like it's _my_ fault Derek is so fertile). Marti has been bragging about having a date with a guy who sold her a car or something (I can't help but wonder if my little sister is going to beat me to the altar. I might just have to give up on love all together if that happens. Is there a male equivalent to the crazy cat lady? There should be. I'm going to have to look into that). And best of all is Lizzie and Eric. Oh how I love to watch the embodiment of my perfect woman fawn over another man (I just can't figure out what she sees in him. Sure they're both soccer fanatics, but having one thing in common doesn't equate to much of a lasting relationship).

I've been sending periodic death glares at the back of his head in between glasses of champagne. I hope I haven't been too obvious about it.

"If looks could kill," a voice broke into my thoughts (thoughts of how to off Eric without leaving a trace and then swooping in to comfort a grieving Lizzie. Bad, _bad idea_). I guess I wasn't being very subtle.

I turn to look at Casey, who has now situated herself in the chair next to me. I had forgotten. Casey knows all about my feelings for her sister—supposedly I helped her realize her feelings for Derek after revealing how I felt for Lizzie in that dream of hers. I still like to take the "deny everything" route.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I respond.

"Please Edwin," Casey waves her hand at me. (She has a way of making me feel like I'm a ten year old when she talks to me. Like she knows so much more than me. I don't like it. I'm a grown man, damn it). "You've got daggers in your eyes. You look like you're under the impression that if you glare at him long enough and with enough intensity that his head will explode."

God, why does she have to be so right all the time?

"So?" I shrug. (I am _so_ pathetic).

"So, instead of sitting over here, being a sulky mess, you should be hightailing it over there to tell Lizzie how you feel," Casey says, tilting her head in the direction of Lizzie—who is now laughing animatedly at something Eric has just said. (Okay I know he is not _that_ funny).

"I can't do that," I reply, folding my arms over my chest stubbornly.

"Why not?"

Man, she is persistent.

"Because."

"Because is not a reason." (Casey is practically mocking me now. She's got that knowing smirk on her face. But what does she know? All of her advice stems from some otherworldly knowledge from a dream she had fifteen years ago).

"My _reason_ is the five-eight muscled, soccer-obsessed comedian over there," I seethed with my teeth clenched together tight.

Casey shakes her head, "You shouldn't let Eric stop you."

"Are you seriously suggesting that I try to break them up?" My mouth fell open.

"That's not what I said exactly. I think that maybe you could make her happy too. If you show her that you want her, as much as he does or more, she might just choose you," Casey explains.

"She _loves_ Eric. He's like the male version of her when it comes to soccer and Tai Kwon Do and all that athletic stuff," I say. "I could never put her in the position to choose between me and him."

"It might not have occurred to you, but she doesn't like him for the things he has in common with her, she likes him for the things he has in common with _you_," Casey responds before standing up again. "I'll let that gestate. Now I must find my husband and my children. Hopefully he hasn't snuck them too much sugar—because we all know I'm the one who is going to have to handle getting them to sleep tonight…"

Casey is still rambling to herself as she walks away.

Funny, the only thing I got from that last comment is that she thinks Eric and I are similar (but we're nothing alike. _Nothing_. Right?) After that conversation, I need another drink. Perhaps something stronger than champagne.

I am halfway out the door of the banquet room, about to go in search of the restaurant's bar, when a gasp goes through the room. I turn back to see what all of the fuss is about, and my heart literally stops for a second (that can't be healthy). In the center of the room, Eric is down on one knee in front of Lizzie. She has one hand over her mouth and the other is clutched in one of Eric's. Everyone in the room is watching as he pulls out a ring.

This can't be happening. (This must be how Casey felt in that dream before she woke up. Problem is…I'm not waking up).

"Lizzie, you know how much I love you. I am here, in front of all your family, down on one knee, and asking for your permission to love you for the rest of my life. Will you marry me?" Eric asks.

I'm a terrible, terrible person, because right now I'm praying to God (say no, say no), I'm offering up everything of value of mine (God damn it say no) in exchange for Him compelling her to reject the proposal. And she says…

"Yes!"

…yes. This day can't get any worse. Although the apologetic looks I'm getting from Casey and Derek _and_ Marti (good God, how many people knew?) aren't making it any better. And the cheers coming from my other family members and friends around the room are just an added bonus (damn them and their oblivious treachery). Also, the way Eric is kissing Lizzie with his smug smiling lips is making me want to vomit (yes, being physically sick would be the perfect cherry on top. My stomach is churning and I am feeling a little woozy, thought that may be the mass amounts of alcohol I've consumed disagreeing with my bloodstream).

I cannot take this anymore.

They say that if you're meant to be with someone, eventually you'll find your way to each other. Well, screw that. Screw Fate. Screw Destiny. I'm paving my own way now.

My story starts _today_.


	2. The Torture Continues

**A/N: **Here's the second chapter. The fun continues…haha. Enjoy! R&R! Thanks! –Mac

**Disclaimer: **I don't own LWD.

**Chapter Two**

**The Torture Continues**

This is complete torture. Our family is gathered at the house Lizzie and Eric share (living in sin they are, not that anyone cares). Nora and my Dad offered to look dinner for everyone, so they're off in the kitchen somewhere. Derek and Casey are sitting close together on Lizzie's couch. (He keeps absentmindedly placing a hand on her stomach. To anyone else this would be adorable, an affectionate gesture of his love for his wife and child. To me it's maddeningly annoying. We all know you're happy your wife is pregnant, stop rubbing it in). Mikay and Quincy are playing out in the backyard, visible through the sliding glass door. Marti is sitting Indian style on the floor across from the couch. Eric is sitting in one of their oversized arm chairs with Lizzie perched on his lap. I'm sitting in the chair across from them (still contemplating a discreet way to strangle him with my bare hands). And what are we all doing here?

We're planning Lizzie and Eric's wedding of course! (Oh kill me now).

They only got engaged like two weeks ago. I don't see what the whole rush is—I mean, what happened to the whole idea of long engagements? No, Lizzie's planning on a _very_ short engagement. In fact, she's planning on a wedding date for only like three months away. God, as if I wasn't already being ripped apart by the fact that she said yes to this asshole, now I have to watch her walk down the aisle before I have the chance to even process what this all means (I'm losing her…). The only thing that would make this whole experience worse is if I had to—

"…really wants you to be in the wedding party. I know you three haven't always gotten along, but Eric is willing to call a truce if you are," Lizzie is saying as I tune back into reality. "What do you say Derek? Edwin?"

If there is a God in heaven, he will strike me down to save me from the hell that is about to befall me. Come on, plague, pestilence, a fucking lightning bolt would suffice.

Damn it.

"Of course I will Lizzie," Derek answers.

Wow, am I in a predicament. If I say yes, I am willingly subjecting myself to three months of torture. And if I say no, I look like an ass and Lizzie will probably hate me forever. Seriously, if there is a God, he is up there laughing his ass off at me and my pathetic existence.

"Edwin?" Lizzie looks at me, with a slight pout on her lips and hope in her eyes. (How can I deny her now?).

"I'd love to Lizzie."

"Great!" Lizzie exclaimed. "You guys are my family. It's important to me that you're involved in this. Thank you so much."

Another arrow straight to my heart.

"Alright, so it's settled. All four of you will be in the wedding party. Casey is my maid of honor, Marti will be a bridesmaid, Derek and Edwin will be groomsmen. Mikay will be my flower girl, and Quincy the ring bearer. Eric's friend Nate is going to be his best man. And I have a friend I'm going to ask to be my second bridesmaid. Perfect," Lizzie replies with a dreamy sigh. She leans over and lets Eric press a short kiss to her lips. (I think I just threw up in my mouth a little).

"So what's your color scheme, Liz?" Casey asks.

_This is too much_.

Luckily, Derek comes to my rescue. He claps his hands and stands, "Okay, I think this stuff is better suited for you girls…and Eric. Ed, you want to come out with me to check on the kids?"

"Yes, _please_," I groan (fresh air is a good idea) as I leap up to follow him out the sliding glass door.

Derek slides the door closed behind us and we are alone (practically speaking, Mikay and Quincy are softly passing a soccer ball back and forth a few feet away but out of earshot). He pats me on the back as we stand there watching the two play. The last thing I need is his pity, but it's better than watching Lizzie gush about dresses and flowers, and being constantly reminded that she's not mine.

"You're a brave man, little brother," Derek comments. "I would not like to be in your place. I don't think I could have watched Casey marry another man."

"Remember, in another life, you did," I reply off handedly.

"Oh, you don't believe that rubbish," Derek rolls his eyes, "Casey has the flair for the dramatic, but you can't actually believe any of that was real."

"She knew about Eric, and Sam and Emily getting together," I shrug. (I don't actually believe it, but those things are true).

"Well, that's beside the point," Derek waves it off. "We're talking about you."

"Right, sorry," I respond, "What were you saying?"

"I was trying to figure out why you are standing by and letting this happen. You obviously have feelings for Lizzie—"

I cut him off, "Look, I went through all this with Casey already. I have no intention of putting Lizzie in a situation where she has to choose between Eric and me. The guy asked her to marry him and she said yes. That has to say something about who she wants to be with. She's not knocking down any doors to be with me."

"Neither are you," Derek adds. "You've let yourself stand in the background. Become the leading man. Show her how you feel. _Tell her_, how you feel."

"Let myself?" I exclaim as my mouth falls open. (Is he kidding me with this?) "Do you think I had a choice in whether or not Lizzie met Eric? I didn't. Do you think I had a choice in whether or not she fell in love with him? I didn't. And I certainly didn't have a choice in the matter when it came to whether or not she was going to marry the guy."

Derek shakes his head (God damn, my brother has issues with egotism, he actually thinks he's _right_). "Edwin, you're the one who never told her how you felt. You made that choice. And if you don't speak up now it's going to be too late. Don't make the same stupid mistake twice."

Advice and an insult all rolled into one, just Derek Venturi's style (I hate how he does that).

"She's happy with Eric," I say. (Am I seriously making these lame excuses? I am pathetic. Maybe I should just tell her. It would save me from resorting to homicide. No, I _couldn't_).

"And you're miserable," Derek responds. "Where's the justice?"

"There's no such thing," I reply, while shaking my head slightly. "Seriously though, maybe I'm not meant to get a shot at happiness. Maybe there's a purpose for my misery."

"Ah, I don't believe that," Derek corrects me (Doesn't he understand that we have different fundamental beliefs at the moment? He believes in love and I don't). "Everyone deserves a chance to be happy. You just have to grab on to the opportunities life gives you. How do you expect to find love if you don't go after it?"

"My brother, the romantic!" I say overly dramatic. I wave my hands around in a very 'Ta-Da!' kind of manner. I put on my best announcer voice and continue, "Clap your hands for him ladies and gentlemen. He'll be here all week."

"Oh, shut up!" Derek reaches over and ruffles my hair. I duck out of his reach and head back for the sliding glass door. He calls out after me, "You know I'm right."

Yeah, _right_. Derek Venturi is right about my relationship problems. It's not possible, is it? He can't possibly be right, can he? He is spouting off the same mumbo jumbo his wife is pushing. And Casey _is_ usually right.

…

…

_Damn it_.

Never thought I'd see the day when my brother was right about something while I was wrong. (Is this a sign of the apocalypse? That could be a good thing. 'Cause if the world is ending that means I don't have to be Eric's groomsmen. I can spend my few remaining hours doing more important things…like sulking).

I slip back into the house and close the door behind me. I look up to find the living room empty save for Lizzie. She is tidying up a few bridal magazines she has laying out on the coffee table. At the sound of the door sliding shut, she looks up at me and smiles.

"I was about to come get you," Lizzie says. "Dinner is ready. Everyone else is in the dining room or kitchen. I was going to call you, Derek and the kids in to clean up before we ate."

"I'll get them," I offer automatically. (Don't you love how she can get me to do things without ever having asked me?)

"Will you? Thanks," Lizzie smiles and starts to head toward the dining room.

"Hey Liz, can I talk to you a sec first?" I ask before she makes it out of the room. (Stop it! What am I doing?)

Lizzie turns back, "Of course, what is it?"

"About being in the wedding party…" I start.

"Oh I get it," Lizzie responds, "You're worried about who you're going to be walking down the aisle with. Don't worry I got it covered."

"Really?" I frown. (At least I'm off the hook for what I was originally going to say. Why must I be so stupid when I'm around her?)

"Yeah. I figured since Casey is going down the aisle with the best man, Derek can walk with Marti. That way you and my friend Julie can walk together," Lizzie explains. (Oh no, don't do it Liz, please don't do it). "I actually thought I could try to set you two up. She's totally your type. I think you've met her once before, yeah?" (Why did you have to do it Lizzie?)

"I vaguely remember meeting her," I reply politely. "But you don't need to set me up. I'm capable of finding my own dates." (Capable but hardly willing. The only person I want is taken).

"That's debatable." Lizzie laughs. "You know Ed, it's about time you found yourself a steady girlfriend. At the rate you're going, everyone you know is going to be hitched and you'll still be a lonely bachelor."

How she wounds me!

"I like my life, Liz," I say. (I actually hate it, tell me you see that Lizzie!)

"Now you do, but if you're still living this way five, ten years from now…" Lizzie trails off. She starts to head toward the dining room again, but adds, "You'll like Julie. Give her a chance."

There is no way in hell.

I pause in my inner turmoil to call Derek and the kids inside. I make a decision, right here, right now. I pull Derek aside as the kids rush forward inside. He calls after the kids to wash up and I wait until he turns his attention to me.

"I'm going to do it. I'm going to tell her."


	3. Apparently, It Can Get Worse

**A/N: **Here's chapter three. The language gets a little grittier here. And there's a little bit of mature-ish flirting. So, you've been warned. Enjoy the chapter! R&R! Thanks! –Mac

**Disclaimer: **I don't own LWD.

**Chapter Three**

**Apparently, It **_**Can**_** Get Worse**

I can't tell her.

I am a coward, plain and simple. It's why I never told her before Eric popped into the picture. It's why I never told her when she had her first doubts about the guy. It's why instead of telling her to dump the fool, I comforted her and told her everything would work out (I am an idiot. I had the power and I let it slip through my fingers). And it's why I can't tell her now.

I have another opportunity to man up, grow some balls and tell her today (though I doubt I'll take it. God I am _so, so, very_ pathetic).

We are meeting for lunch at her favorite restaurant. I told her it was my treat, a celebration lunch to honor her engagement (gag me). I get here earlier than I was supposed to and get a table. It's in the back corner of the restaurant—kind of intimate, kind of romantic in any other situation (not here of course, because to Lizzie she's meeting her dear, sweet stepbrother to celebrate the fact that she's getting married to her perfect, knight in shining soccer cleats). I am starting to get anxious, because time is slowly creeping by and Lizzie is late. She's never late. (Something is not right here. I'm telling you…).

"I'm sorry I'm late," Lizzie's voice fills my ears and I look up to see…she's not alone.

It's an ambush.

I remember meeting Julie now that I've seen her again. I met her at my Dad and Nora's Christmas Party last year. There isn't much I remember about that night. (I had a little too much eggnog, so sue me). I do remember that Eric wasn't supposed to make it over because it conflicted with something with his family. And I was ecstatic. Lizzie was wearing this ruby red dress that hugged her just the right way. I had been watching her slowly make her way around the room, edging dangerously close to where the single sprig of mistletoe hung in the doorway to the kitchen. I was on this drunken adrenaline rush that had me believing I would swoop in and steal a kiss if she ended up underneath it. (People disagree, but I've happened to have found many situations where alcohol _was_ the answer). She sidestepped halfway into the kitchen, unknowingly positioning herself just so under the mistletoe. I was about to rush forward to meet her when this girl stepped into my way (completely invading my personal space in a way some girls believe is _sexy_). She was all "Hi, I'm Julie. Lizzie's told me _so much_ about you." I, on the other hand, was just trying to catch a glimpse of Lizzie from around her head. By the time I shook her off, Eric was bursting through the front door as if his presence was some kind of Christmas miracle. Lizzie had squealed, dropping everything to do a running leap into his open arms.

I _hate_ this girl.

"You remember Julie," Lizzie is saying as she sits across from me. Julie sits down in the chair to my left, smiling a wide toothy smile at me.

(Yeah, I remember her…She deprived me of vital seconds that could have prevented the train wreck my life is now) Instead I say, "Yeah, we met last Christmas, right?"

"You remember!" Julie squeals.

I force myself not to wince at her high-pitched voice (like nails on a chalkboard, _ow_). That kind of fake enthusiasm grates on my nerves.

"Julie called me this morning to see if I wanted to go shopping with her, start my registry. I already had plans with you, but I figured that since you're going to be in the wedding party together, I thought you should get to know each other a little better," Lizzie explains the unwanted guest. I look up to gape at her and she winks at me (winks! She _winks_!)

I clear my throat of the obscenities that want to trickle out, "Oh, it's no problem. You're right. We should get to know each other." (It actually hurt to say that).

"Great," Lizzie smiles. (I love her smile and that eases the pain a little, but _just_ a little).

"So Edwin, it's exciting right? Our Lizzie getting married?" Julie asks, still smiling that too bright smile. (_My_ Lizzie, not our Lizzie. _My_ Lizzie).

"Yeah," I respond, "_Exciting_."

The three of us chat idly for awhile. The waiter stops by to take our orders and Julie announces that she needs to "use the little girls' room" (how is Lizzie friends with _her_?) Once she has disappeared down the hall that houses the restrooms, Lizzie turns to me.

"It's okay that I brought her, right? I know it was supposed to be just you and me," Lizzie begins.

What am I supposed to say? No, I hate her. Make her leave this instant. I have no intention of ever being romantically involved with this girl who could easily have a shorter attention span than a two year old. Of course I can't say that. (Why does she ask me questions that she doesn't want the real answers to?)

"She's already here," I respond, "Besides, she's _nice_." (Lies, lies. I am such a liar, but she made me this way).

At least it's not Eric.

"I knew you'd like her," Lizzie replies. She takes a sip of her water. "And she likes you, I can tell."

How can you tell Lizzie? Is it because her voice rises to a pitch that is only appropriate for the ears of dogs? Is that it? Is that the thing you're picking up on? (I'm being mean as hell, I know, but at least I don't say it out loud).

I don't respond to that comment because Julie is tiptoeing back to the table. She sits back down, her eyes on me the whole time. She bats her eyelashes and pouts her lips slightly. I notice that she's put on fresh lipstick on because when she takes a sip of her drink it leaves a red stain on the glass. (Oh, _God_…she's _flirting_).

Her little advances continue throughout the lunch. I try to pretend that I'm oblivious to them. I think it's working because she's trying harder to get my attention as we order a quick dessert. I keep my gaze on Lizzie, focusing on her perfecting features and it's a nice distraction until…_Oh fuck me_. That is her hand on my knee.

I can't exactly ignore that.

She starts to glide her hand higher and I lurch backwards in my chair. The movement successfully dislodges her hand but my knee jumps up to slam into the underside of the table. The dishes on the table clatter and my water glass tips over to flood the table.

"Shit," I mutter as I stand quickly to try to mop up my mess.

"Edwin, are you okay?" Lizzie questions as she stands to help.

"I'm fine," I answer. I glance over at Julie and she's smirking.

This is just _fucking perfect._

We get the water sopped up as well as we can and we sit back down. I reach up a hand to rub my face. This is giving me a migraine.

"Are you sure nothing is wrong?" Lizzie asks again. She is frowning and her voice is laced with concern (oh no, nothing's wrong. Your friend is fucking molesting me, that's all).

"I'm fine, Liz," I repeat. (I will say I'm fine until I'm blue in the face, but I'm not sure I'll ever mean it). The waiter is walking past our table and I flag him down, "Can we get the check?"

He returns with the tab and I take it. I pull out my wallet. The faster I pay, the sooner I'll be out of here. Julie offers to pay for her meal, but I wave her off. I told Lizzie it was my treat, so it's my treat. (Plus the girl only ordered a _salad_ for god sakes). Our bill gets settled and we leave the restaurant. We are standing out on the street, getting ready to go our separate ways.

I guess that's another swing and a miss on my part. (I am never going to tell her, it's just never going to happen).

"That was nice of you, Edwin," Lizzie says.

"No problem," I force myself to smile. (Keep up the act, Ed. Just keep it up). "It's what I'm here for."

Lizzie smiles, "Then you wouldn't mind if I asked you for another huge favor?"

What _now_?

"Of course not. What do you need?" (I am always so freakin' helpful. That's who I am: the dependable stepbrother. As opposed to Derek who actually could be capable of breaking up an engagement to get the girl he wanted).

"Well, Eric and I are going to have an engagement party in a couple weeks, when his brother and sister-in-law get back from their European getaway. We wanted to have a video play after dinner. Like a slide show of pictures of us, of our relationship. I was going to ask Derek, but I know he's really busy with Casey and the kids and getting ready for the new baby…I was wondering if you could do it?" She finished her request with that same pouty, hopeful look I mentioned before. And I can't say no.

"Sure, Lizzie. I would love to," I answer. (This is my own fault. I must be some kind of masochist).

"Oh thank you, thank you!" Lizzie exclaims. She gives me a sudden tight hug that I don't even have time to respond to before she pulls away. "I'll email you everything I have when I get home. And a list of songs for you to choose from. Thank you, I really appreciate it."

And then she is on her way. As Lizzie starts off for the parking lot, Julie slides up to me. (She's back in my personal space, what do I do?). I freeze, go completely immobile. She presses right up against me. I feel her hand slide down my back and into my back pocket (I feel so _violated_).

"That's my number," Julie breathes out huskily. "Call me and we can spend some time together just the two of us. We can do something more _intimate_."

And then (I am _mortified _to say) she _pinches_ me before she removes her hand and slides away from me. She slinks off to follow Lizzie, her hips swaying dramatically from side to side.

I should be a comedian. I would have so much good material, because my life's a fucking _joke_.


	4. A Disaster In The Making

**A/N: **Same language warnings apply here (and in all the chapters that follow). Edwin's trying to work on his little project for the engagement party here. Enjoy, vote, R&R! Thanks! –Mac

**Disclaimer: **I don't own.

**Chapter Four**

**A Disaster in the Making**

I have been sitting in front of my laptop for an eternity and I've got fucking _nothing_. I'm lacking motivation, inspiration, any semblance of _sanity_, etcetera, etcetera. All of which is preventing me from completing my requested task (not that I'm depressed that there isn't a video chronicling Lizzie and Eric's most romantic moments, set to gushy love songs, in existence).

I let my head fall against my desk, but I miss the wood of my desk and smack against my keyboard. The combination of keys entered by my forehead causes my computer to emit an indignant beeping sound and an error message to pop up on my screen (How appropriate, my entire life is a cause for error messages). I let out a frustrated growl and sit back up.

I am going to finish this video if it is the last thing I do (which it very well might be since every time I look at a picture of Lizzie and Eric together, I have the urge to gouge my eyes out with whatever object is closest to me at the moment…oh a letter opener, perfect).

Lizzie had done her part and sent me a zip file of every picture of her and Eric, ranging from right after they first met to a couple weeks ago. Also included in the email is a list of the cheesiest songs about love and commitment ever sung ever (if Lizzie really thinks Eric is the 'wind beneath her wings' I'm gonna have to stab out more than just my eyes).

But I have to get this done, and the faster I suck it up and finish it, the sooner I can work out my frustrations by defacing photos of Eric in Photoshop.

I click open the folder of photos and prepare myself (breathe like a normal person dammit) for another attempt at sorting through the mushy, lovey-dovey, fluffy heap of romance in all its sickly sweet glory that is Lizzie and Eric's "fairytale" story (just another added reminder of _exactly _ what I'm missing out on). This should be adapted into a legitimate torture technique, because I don't think anything I've experienced has ever made me feel like my heart has been ripped from my chest and put into a blender set to puree (someone please, please, _please_ put me out of my misery).

I am spared from further torment by a knock on my door. I exit out of the folder but leave my laptop open as I go to answer my door. I glance through my peephole to see Derek standing on the other side and looking around impatiently. I don't think I've ever been happier to see my big brother (his presence not being an annoyance to someone is a rare occurrence). I unchain and unlock the door and pull it open.

"Derek, how's it going brother?" I say enthusiastically, waving my arm wide to gesture him inside.

Derek quirks an eyebrow, "Are you having a bad day, Ed?"

"What? I can't be happy to see my brother?" I ask. "Does something have to be wrong for me to be excited to see you?"

"Yes," Derek nods and laughs, as he walks into my apartment. "Either that, or you want something from me."

"Fine, I'm having a terrible day; correction, I'm having a terrible three years. Today and the unintentionally malicious task Lizzie has bestowed on me are just a cherry on top," I finally admit. I push my door so hard it hits the doorframe and bounces back at me. I groan and close it again, more gently this time. Derek just watches me, silent and unblinking (he's such an ass, standing there with his I-have-the-perfect-happy-go-lucky-life-nothing-phases-me-because-I've-got-everything-I've-ever-wanted expression on his face). "Why are you here, Derek?"

"Casey sent me with these," Derek says, holding up a small stack of CD jewel cases. "She said they're to help make your project easier. I think they are pictures for the video or something—ones Lizzie didn't have."

Great, more pictures of the love birds to be burned onto my retinas. _Thank you, Casey_.

"You can leave them on my desk," I reply, passing by Derek to return to my chair. I sit down and pretend to be busy on my laptop (Maybe if I don't look at him, he won't get it into his head to provide me with anymore _advice_ on the Lizzie situation).

Derek sets down the CDs on the desk beside my laptop. He taps the top of the stack, pointing out a folded piece of paper taped to it. "There's a note from Casey. You can talk to either of us if you need to. I know I tease you a lot, but I'm your brother, I'll be there if you need me. We're worried about you Ed. If this is gonna be too much for you, say the word, and I'll take over."

"I can handle it," I say, never looking away from my screen (see Derek, I'm almost as good of a liar as you used to be).

"Okay, I'll let myself out and you can get back to work."

I wait until I hear my door click shut behind Derek and I drop my head to my desk, landing on my keyboard again. My laptop makes a few more offended beeps on my impact.

"Oh shut up," I groan in response.

I sit with my forehead pressed against my keyboard for a few long minutes. It occurs to me that I'm just stalling, delaying the pain. I could sit like this for weeks wallowing in my own self pity, but that wouldn't change the fact that this video won't make itself. I take in a deep breath (you can do it Ed) and sit back up once again. I pick up the CDs Derek left, and flip open the not on top. Let's see what Casey has to say this time.

_Edwin, I'm having Derek bring these to you for a very specific purpose. This is the last push I'm going to give you. After this, you're all on your own to make your final decision. Disc one is to help you think about what you could be losing out on. Disc two is to help you remember what you mean to her. And if the first two disc's have the intended affect then you won't need disc three. If not, then disc three is a supplement to the files Lizzie sent you. No matter what you decide, Derek and I will support you. Love, Casey._

She is quite the sentimentalist. I guess she doesn't realize I've already resigned myself to the living hell Lizzie's impending nuptials are condemning me to. But hell, going along with Casey's little game can't hurt me anymore than Lizzie already has (but then again, I may just be coming to terms with those masochistic tendencies I mentioned before). I open the first jewel case and insert the disc into my CD drive. Setting the files to play through in slideshow mode, I sit back to see what Casey has provided me with (this ought to be good).

My screen is suddenly filled with the image of Lizzie's face and my heart jumps into my throat (_Fuck_). Each picture that runs through is of only Lizzie, every single one, just Lizzie. I want to shut it off, snap the disc in half and throw it away, pretend that it didn't affect me at all like Casey had planned it to—but I am fascinated. I can't look away from the one thing in the world I would give up everything to have (and the one thing in the world even that sacrifice couldn't get me).

As the last picture transitions to black, I come to the conclusion that Casey is trying to kill me because my heart is pounding harder and faster than any healthy heart should (but mine's broken and worn out and wounded so maybe this _is_ normal for me) and I'm pretty sure I feel an anxiety attack coming on. There is no way I am even opening the second disc (I might have a spontaneous aneurism if I see what Casey has put there). But I'm struck by an odd rush of inspiration.

I boot up my video editing program and get to work. Two hours later, I have produced a video that laces together all the pictures Casey gave me on that first disc with every piece of recorded footage of Lizzie I had on my laptop to become a short portrait of everything I love about her—from the sound of her laughter, to the way she gets shy and holds her hand in front of her face when I try to film her. I have poured every drop of my love for her into that video, to try to capture the beauty of the way I see her, but it still doesn't do her justice (And even as I think "Edwin, you are a pathetic sap," I know this may be the only piece of her I get after she says her vows, so I forgive my momentary lapse).

I burn the video on to a blank CD and when it's finished, I snag a red sharpie out of my pencil jar and mark the disc with a small heart (I may be a pathetic, cowardly sap who can't express how he feels in productive ways, but I don't want anyone else to know that). Leaving that CD in a fresh jewel case, I reopen the folder Lizzie sent me and start on the real video.

Now that I have squeezed every excess emotion out of myself and am comfortably numb, I can put together a video showing Lizzie's 'Endless Love' for Eric without wanting to punch my fist through my wall or my head through my window panes (both of which would probably lose me my security deposit on my apartment). And then I wonder if this sudden complacency is a good thing or a bad thing.

I guess I'll just have to wait and see.


	5. What Have I Done pt1

**A/N: **Here is where the implied sexual content comes into play. Do I think I'm torturing Edwin too much with what happens here? Yes, just a little. But I do promise to make it up to him in coming chapters. Though, he has a couple more rough chapters to get through. Anyway, enjoy, vote, R&R! Thanks! –Mac

**Disclaimer: **I don't own.

**Chapter Five**

**What Have I Done (To Deserve This)**

I wake up the morning of the engagement party, with my face smashed into my pillow and a puddle of drool forming under my cheek. A pounding headache is causing white hot pain to explode behind my eyeballs. I'm too groggy to comprehend what woke me up, but I know it wasn't my alarm, because a cautious tilt of my head toward my clock reveals that not only is my alarm shut off, but it should have woken me up over an hour and a half ago. Then my bed shifts with the added weight of someone sitting down on the edge of my bed behind me (What the hell is going on here?).

Closing my eyes tightly, I try to think back to last night. I remember going out by myself to a bar not far from my apartment to drown my self-loathing in shots of whatever the bartender poured me. I can recall a dozen missed calls from Derek and a few from Casey, accompanied by a voicemail of Derek yelling hoarsely into the phone that he wanted to know where the hell I was, because he was fucking worried and he had come to my apartment to find it _fucking empty_. The thought that Derek hasn't used that kind of language in a very long time (because he has children and he has to set a good example and be a role model and blah, blah, blah), meaning he must be very upset stuck in my mind. My brother concluded his message with his claim that he was going to look for me, and if he found me he was going to kick my sorry ass for pulling him away from his family in the middle of the night like that. I specifically remember deleting the voicemail, pushing seven when the automated voice prompted me to. The last thing I remember is scrolling through the contacts in my phone and having to force myself to stop _before_ I reached the Ls, so I wouldn't drunk dial Lizzie…(_oh shit_).

The feel of acrylic nails running through my hair and down my naked back induces my urge to vomit (and it's not just the oh-god-oh-god-what-the-hell-have-I-done kind of vomit, but also my-stomach-wants-to-expel-any-alcohol-left-in-my-system vomit). I try to swallow down the bile rising in my throat and slowly turn over to face the other occupant of my bed. It's a small consolation that when my eyes finally land on Julie that she's already fully clothed (I might have actually thrown up on her if she had been naked and I was reminded again of what had happened once I invited her over for a night cap…_how did this even happen_?).

"Hey there, sleepyhead," she says huskily. She traces a finger down my chest, heading quickly for dangerous territory only loosely protected by a sheet (and I am so fucked up right now that I have no energy to even stop her if she continues). Thankfully, she stops and leaves her hand to stroke the parts of my visible above the sheets (oh dear Lord, get me out of this somehow). "I had been hoping we could get in another quickie before I headed out, but…I really got to run."

Jesus Fucking Christ, _thank you_.

I open my mouth to tell her she can let herself out, but no sound comes out (better silence than projectile vomit, though, again, not much of a consolation).

"You don't have to say anything," Julie smiles. "Last night was amazing for me too. We'll _have_ to do it again sometime soon—maybe tonight, after the party? I'll make sure my dress has easy access and I'll leave off a particular article of clothing in case you get frisky and want to take a quick break during the festivities."

Each one of the words in her final sentence is punctuated by a gentle tap of her nails on my skin. There's a lump settling in my throat and I don't risk saying anything because I'm sure this time if I open my mouth I will spill last night's dinner onto my sheets. Julie leans down and presses a kiss to my cheek. Then she gets off my bed and heads for my open bedroom door.

She wiggles her fingers at me, "See you tonight, _all of you_."

When I'm sure she's out of my apartment, I leap from my bed, almost tripping as my sheets tangle around my legs. I shake loose of my blankets and nearly dive into my bathroom. Once my head is buried in my toilet, I finally throw up, retching out the entirety of my stomach contents. After what feels like hours of sitting with my face pressed against the cool porcelain, I finally feel okay enough to move. I brush my teeth and rinse with mouthwash (not only to wash away the taste of vomit but also to erase any trace of Julie on my tongue—gah, I shudder at the very thought). Now that I am satisfyingly minty fresh, I drag myself back to my bed and vow to stay there for the rest of eternity—in hopes that no one will ever find out about the stupid (so insanely stupid) thing I did last night. (I never thought I would be _that desperate_, but I guess I've hit rock bottom).

I'm not sure how long I laid there before I came back to reality again to Derek screaming in my ear, "Wake up you dickhead, you're gonna be late."

I groan and roll away from him, pulling a pillow over my head to protect my ears. "How did you get into my apartment?"

"Well one, I have your spare key. I took it from its hiding space last night when I thought I might be dragging you home from whatever gutter I found you in. And two, the front door was open. Julie must have forgotten to lock up when she left," Derek says (the volume of his voice could rival a megaphone) as he rips the pillow out of my grasp and tosses it across the room. (I'm left defenseless).

"How do you know Julie was here?" I question, turning so I can squint Derek into focus.

"It's old news, baby brother," Derek answers. "She called Lizzie to gush, and Lizzie called Casey and me to let us know that you hadn't been mugged in an alley and left for dead."

"Fuck," I rub a hand over my eyes, "Everyone knows?"

"There are more important things than you screwing Lizzie's slutty bridesmaid, like the fact that you had me worried sick all night," Derek exclaims and the sound is piercing to my ears.

"Don't be so dramatic. I can take care of myself. Stop acting like an overprotective mother and you wouldn't be 'so worried' all the time," I cross my arms over my face and try to block out the sun that is now streaming into the room because Derek has pulled open my blinds.

"Look, I knew how depressed you were feeling, I figured you had gone out to get smashed, but I thought you would have had the decency to return at least one of my calls."

"Well, I guess I'm not a decent human being," (Ha, you can say that again Ed. You just added fucking the love-of-your-live's friend to the list of indecent things you've done in your life. It now has a place next to falling in love with your stepsister, a girl who is engaged to goddamn Prince Charming of the I-don't-have-a-fucking-flaw Charmings. And to top it all off, you're now talking to yourself in the second person. _That's new_).

"Goddammit Ed, this has nothing to do with how good a guy you are. You realize that Lizzie isn't with Eric because you're not good enough. She's with Eric because you're too scared to tell her how you feel," Derek says.

"This isn't about Lizzie. This is about how much of a major fuck up I am at my own life. I don't even like Julie. In fact, I kinda hate her. How the hell did I end up having sex with her?" I start to yell, but even my own voice makes my ears ring, so I lower my voice.

"I don't know, but you're gonna have to have the pity party some other time, because now you have to get your ass out of bed to get ready for tonight," Derek pushes my shoulder in an attempt to shake me out of my depression and back to reality (and it works. Dammit).

"I'm sick. I'm not going," I roll over and pull my blankets over my head (Jesus, what am I? _Five_?)

"You're not sick. You're hung over and it's your own damn fault. Now I want you out of this bed and getting ready in the next thirty seconds or I am going to pull you out of it myself," Derek grabs a hold of my blankets and pulls them off of me, discarding them with my pillow on the other side of the room. "I'm waiting."

To prevent him from resorting to counting down out loud how long I had before I earned a physical removal from my bed, I got up on my own, "Okay, _Dad_, I'm up. You can stop hovering."

"Did you finish the video?" Derek asks.

"Yes," I nod, slowly as to not aggravate the already raging headache.

"Where is it?"

"On my desk by my laptop. Why?"

"I'm going to take it with me, so they can have it queued up and ready to play after dinner. Just in case you show up more than fashionably late. Even though you won't because if you're not there by the time dinner comes out, it's not me you're gonna have to deal with. And you don't even want to know the kind of punishments Casey dishes out when the kids disobey her. Not to mention how pissed Lizzie would be if you missed her engagement party," Derek says all this as he makes his way out of my bedroom and I start to head toward my bathroom (the only thought on my mind being a hot shower).

I only stop to confirm that Derek got the disc. I lean my head out of my bathroom, "Did you find it?"

"Yeah, I got it," Derek calls back. "Remember what I said about being late."

"Yeah, yeah," I mumble under my breath as I shut my bathroom door.

I wonder if there is enough scalding hot water and soap in the world to wash away the memory of what I did with Julie (doubt it). If what some people believe is true, I must have done something incredibly horrible in a past life to deserve this.


	6. What Have I Done pt2

**A/N: **This is chapter six. I've got two more chapters to type up, and two more chapters to write and then this story will be finished as well. The torture I'm inflicting on Edwin continues. Enjoy! Vote. R&R! Thanks! –Mac

**Disclaimer: **I don't own LWD. I also don't own the song "Come to Your Senses" by Lesley Roy.

**Chapter Six**

**What Have I Done (Version 2.0, Bigger, Badder and Uncut Fuckups)**

Lizzie's engagement party is being held in a banquet hall similar to the one Nora and my Dad's anniversary party was held. The difference is this party comes with an open bar (thank my lucky stars). When I arrive at the hall, I make a beeline for the bar and order a shot of the strongest stuff they got (this probably isn't the best place to get drunk, but if I don't down a little liquid courage, I will never be able to face Lizzie). Maybe if I stay over here in the corner, I can pass the night without ever having to own up to the disaster one night stand.

But apparently my luck runs out at the open bar.

I'm on my second shot when the devil incarnate in high heels and a mini dress appears by my side. I suppress a groan as she sidles up too close to my side. I catch a strong whiff of the perfume drifting off of her (she must have drowned herself in it). It's so strong I can nearly taste it (oh lord I'm choking. Death by second hand perfume, it's got a ring to it).

"Fancy seeing you here," Julie whispers with her mouth nearly pressed against my ear. (She does realize this is my _step sister's_ engagement party? My attendance is pretty much mandatory. Plus I'm on that masochism kick. Why wouldn't I want to be here to witness firsthand how blissfully happy the love of my life is with another man).

"Quite the coincidence," I mutter under my breath, and signal for another drink from the bartender. He pulls a bottle to refill my glass.

"Buy me a drink, and then I'm gonna steal you away," Julie says, linking her arm through mine.

I pull my arm away to reach for my shot glass and quickly down it. I'm not even going to remind her that the drinks are free or acknowledge her request to steal me away. "I'll have something, anything on the rocks for me, and whatever she wants."

The bartender makes our drinks and I grab min. I turn to walk away from the bar to search out someone to save me from Julie's unwanted advances (I would much rather face my family and their inevitable teasing than Julie's propositions. Knowing I had experienced those once is enough for a lifetime). But Julie has other ideas. She gets a firm grip on my wrist and she slides in front of me to block my path.

"Come with me, I have something to show you," Julie murmurs.

I try to put together and objection, but before anything could leave my lips, the announcement that dinner is about to be served is made (man, close call).

"After dinner, then," Julie says. "We'll have our own special dessert."

Without replying, I start to go around her to head for the main table where the rest of my family and Eric's family are already sitting. Yet again Julie shifts in front of me (what the hell does she want now?)

"Where are you going?" She smiles widely. "Lizzie made room at my table so we can sit together."

"I—" I stammer for a minute (Jesus fucking Christ, does the girl ever give up? Take a fucking hint). "I should sit with my family."

"Nonsense," She swats me playfully. "They won't even miss you."

Dear God, this is what my life has come to. This is my punishment for being such a coward. Lizzie is going to have the perfect little life with Eric and I'm gonna fall into some torturous pattern with Julie—the anti-Lizzie (How did I let it come this?). I resign myself to my fate for the night and allow Julie to drag me toward her table. She pushes me down into a chair and pulls her own chair closer to mine before she folds herself into it. She is talking to me in her low (so not sultry) voice, while the food is being served and I star straight ahead taking occasional sips off my drink. This keeps my gaze away from Julie to my right as well as my family a couple tables over to my left. I keep this up even as a waiter brings our food. I spend the mean alternating between picking at my food and brushing off Julie's wandering hands. If I don't look anyone in the eye everything will be fine (oh hell, who am I kidding? It's all going to shit anyway. I fucking give up. I'm done. It cannot possibly get any worse).

People came around the clear away plates as everyone finished eating. Julie is dropping hints for me to join her for some fresh air and I'm ignoring her. I turn my attention to the front of the room where Marti has stood up behind a microphone. There was a projector screen lowering behind her (great, it's time for _that_. Leaving with Julie almost, _almost_, seems like a better deal than sitting here to watch my handiwork).

"I don't know how I got roped into making this presentation, but my dear brothers and Casey all refused the _honor_. Anyway, we've got a treat for you before they bring out dessert. This is a short video put together by my brother Edwin Venturi for our beloved Lizzie and her groom-to-be Eric. This is their story," Marti says and makes a presenting gesture toward the screen. Then she heads back to her seat at the main table.

The lights in the hall dim and the projector turns on, the video beginning to play across the screen. I divert my eyes and put a hand over my face (this is too much). If I have to sit here, I'm not going to look at it. I've seen those pictures enough. The first chords of the music begins to play and I'm about to stick my fingers in my ears while humming to drown it out (like a freakin' child, what is wrong with me?).

Then my head snaps up as I actually hear the first few notes of the song on the video. This is not right. (Oh no, this is not good. Not good at all. This is horrendously, horrendously bad).

"_I long to hold your face in my hands_

_The heart is hard to understand_

_Love is a mystery_

_The truth of it hard to see, oh yeah."_

As those lyrics play the first pictures start to appear (no, no, no, this cannot be happening). I mentally go back to my desk. I can see it clearly in my head. If I push aside a few stray pieces of paper I had tossed there last night before heading to the bar, I will find the disc labeled 'Lizzie and Eric's Engagement Video' tucked underneath. Derek must have picked up the wrong one (because I'm an idiot and left this one right out in the open) unable to tell the difference (because I'm an idiot and made a video that never should have existed). It occurs to me that I should get them to stop the video, but the damage is already done. There are barely muted whispers from the tables around me. Casey and Derek are shooting each other glances out of the corners of their eyes. Marti looks as if she is about to slide out of her chair. My Dad and Nora keep looking over at me. Eric looks both confused and upset. But my eyes land on Lizzie and never move on. Her eyes are glued to the screen as pictures of her flash by. From my angle, I can't see her face, only the back of her head. I want to get the video shut off before it reaches the end, but I can't move. I'm too afraid to move a muscle, when I don't know what Lizzie is thinking (God what you must be thinking Lizzie). I want to hide my face away from all the eyes turning toward me but I can't turn away from Lizzie. I'm waiting; waiting for this train wreck and all its aftermath to spill out in front of me (She's going to hate me. She's gonna hate me and she's going to kill me for ruining her celebration). I want to run away, but I'm so ashamed of this mistaken declaration that I can't leave. I have to stay and face whatever is coming to me (She's going to think I did this on purpose, that I meant for this to happen). I'm doomed, not that I wasn't before now…but now I'm going to lose her completely. She's never going to speak to me again (What have I done? How could I have been so stupid?).

The music fades out to a quite murmur as the pictures shift to a recording. It was a special clip that I had chosen to end the video, special to me, a personal moment between me and Lizzie, filmed when we were back in high school. Now everyone gets to see it. No one was _meant_ to see it (What have I done?).

_Lizzie's face fills the frame as I, from behind the camera, zoom in on her eyes. She laughs that melodic laugh of hers and puts her hands up to block the lens. I zoom the camera back out to see all of her._

_ "Will you stop filming me, Ed?" She says in the midst of her laughter, giving her words a delightful lilt. _

_ "Now why would I do that?" My voice comes from behind the camera._

_ "I look horrible today. I'm a complete mess," Lizzie continues to try to hid her face from view._

_ "Nonsense, you look beautiful," the camera shakes a little as I shake my head at her off screen._

_ Lizzie puts her hands down and faces directly into the camera as she rolls her eyes at me. While it's true that her hair is falling out of the messy bun she had quickly tied it into, and she is sans makeup that day, I always liked the natural look on her best. She stares into the camera as she says, "You're just saying that. But—you can't film me if you can't catch me."_

_ With her final words, she laughs again and starts to run away, zigzagging left and right. I stand in the same place for a moment. My voice is soft, but audible, "I wasn't just saying that. You always look beautiful to me."_

The video transitions to the final picture and the music comes in full volume for the last lines:

"_I'm counting on destiny_

_To bring you to your sense_

_I'm counting on destiny_

_If this is how it ends_

_This is how it goes, I know."_

The screen fades to black as the last notes trail off. There is a moment of utter silence in the room. Then Lizzie whips around to look at me, her eyes wide and staring (oh god, are those tears?). I look back at her, unable to break her gaze (I'm barely breathing. Lizzie say something). Her lips quiver as if she is about to say something or is holding back a sob (I can't tell anymore what's real and what's in my head. God dammit say something).

But she doesn't say a word; instead, she leaps out of her chair—knocking it over to slid loudly across the wood floor—and runs from the room. She's left me to fight off the wolves while my heart shatters into a million pieces, _again_. She runs, while I'm left to clean up the mess I've caused. I can't blame her (I have royally fucked up. How did I let it get this far? _How_?)


	7. Time To Face The Music

**A/N: **Things are coming to a head here with chapter seven. I have chapter eight written, waiting to be typed, and I'm going to start working on chapters nine and ten to finish out this story. Everyone should vote in my poll, to help me choose the category for my next multi chapter fic (to be started after I complete this, What Happens In Vegas, and my VMars fic Do You Remember?) because I have like a five way tie right now. lol Anyway, enjoy! R&R! Thanks! –Mac

**Disclaimer: **I don't own.

**Chapter Seven**

**Time To Face The Music**

My first instinct is to run out after Lizzie (not to stop her or even follow her, but to avoid the shit storm that is brewing in the banquet hall directed only on me). But I don't run. I don't even move. It's like I'm rooted to the spot (also its probably best that I don't have an angry mob chase me out into the street). I try to avoid meeting any gaze that has turned upon me, but that task is increasingly difficult as pairs of eyes from all around the room have turned toward me. The buzz of hushed whispers is heavy in the air. I wish someone would really say something (just get it out there, it's gonna happen eventually, just _say it_).

The chord of tension pulls slowly taut, and then snaps.

Suddenly Eric is lunging at me. "You bastard—"

I push back my chair, jumping to my feet. I brace myself for the punch he's likely to throw, but it never comes. When I look up, I find Derek holding Eric back. Eric is struggling, trying to get closer to me, but failing to dislodge Derek's firm grip on him (the plus side of the scuffle is all the attention is not just on me anymore).

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Derek is muttering. "Calm down. There's no reason to get physical. Let's all act like adults."

"Adults?" Eric exclaims. He finally throws off Derek's grip when he takes a step back with his hands up in a gesture of surrender. "Fine, let's act like adults. My question is, what the hell was that and who else was in on this little stunt? Hmm? Were you all conspiring against me? I know this asshole made the video,' Eric waves a hand at me and then turns toward Derek, "but you brought it here and Marti presented it. You can't honestly tell me that you didn't know what you were doing. You set me up in front of my parents, and my family and my friends. Fuck all of you. You're all a part of this."

"Hey, lay off them," I take a step toward him. (If he wants a fight, bring it on, because no one talks to my family like that). "They had nothing to do with this."

"Like I'm going to trust a word you say," Eric scoffs as he turns back to me. "You're a family of liars and fakes. You hate me so much because I ruined your happy little plan to keep it in the family."

"That's uncalled for, Eric," Marti says as she stands from her table. Our dad puts a hand on her shoulder to keep her back (but there's a flash of Venturi loyalty in his eyes that says he won't try very hard to keep her back if it goes much further).

"No, what's _uncalled for_ is that pathetic excuse for sabotage your _brother_ just played for us," Eric shoots back. He lets out a breath laced with laughter. "And what did your declaration of love get you? _She ran out on you_."

"She ran out on you too," I remind him (dig, dig, dig my hole deeper, this is going to end badly). "You think that video was an attempt to sabotage your happy day, to break you and Lizzie up? You've got another thing coming. No one was meant to see that. This is a misunderstanding, that's all. The wrong disc got picked up. I'm _happy_ for you and Lizzie. You can run off into the sunset to live your perfect little romance together for all I care. But you're lucky Lizzie did leave, because if she had heard you talk to her family the way you just did, let's just say her response would be much more painful than mine."

With each sentence, I took a step closer to him. I am breathing heavy and I have no idea where the nerve is coming from to allow me to say these things (I feel like I'm going to pass out any second). By my final word, I am standing right in front of him. I offer him a forced smile and clap him on the shoulder before I walk around him to head for the exit.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?" Eric yells after me.

"Home," I call out without looking back, "This party officially blows."

I keep up a straight face and determined demeanor as I make my exit. Each step, out of the sight of all the prying eyes, drains a little of the confidence out of me. By the time I am getting in my car, I am shaking. My keys rattle noisily as I try to fit my car key into the ignition. I give up when I fumble with them too violently and I drop them onto the floor of the car. I let my head slam down on the steering wheel and take a moment to consider the destructive force (read: my own stupidity) that has blown my life to bits. I take in a deep, strangled breath (I am in hell. I've died and gone to hell. There's no other explanation. I should have seen this coming). I lean down and twist my arm at a painful angle to reach my keys without adjusting my seat (I can still feel pain, so I haven't gone numb yet. Oh joy. I wouldn't be a true masochist if I couldn't feel the pain). My hands hold steady long enough to get the key in the ignition and the car started. Before I can pull away though, there's a knock on my driver's side window.

I roll down my window, "What do you want Casey?"

"One, I saw how much you drank tonight and you're not driving anywhere. So, get out of the car. Two, I want you to talk to me about it, Edwin. Why did you do that?" Casey has that if-you-don't-do-what-I-say-there-will-be-severe-painful-consequences look on her face, so I turn off the car and get out. She holds out her hand, "Keys."

I reluctantly hand them over. "I don't want to talk about it Casey."

"Well, you're going to. Get in the passenger seat. Derek's going to meet us at your apartment to take me home. You have between here and there to explain to me what's going on in your head," Casey gives me a gentle push in the directions she wants me to go. When I stall, she lowers another do-what-I-say-and-no-one-gets-hurt look at me (why do I even try? Does anyone care what _I_ want? No? Yeah, I thought so).

A few minutes later, Casey is driving us out of parking lot. I keep my head turned toward the passenger side window, watching everything we pass by in hope of avoiding this conversation she wants to have. But she is persistent and she's not likely to let me out of the car until I've talked it out. I suppose it would be best to humor her (normal Casey is bad enough, but I can't imagine what hormone-crazed-pregnant Casey is capable of).

"So tell me Edwin," she says, "why did you do it?"

"I told you. It was a mistake," I answer, glancing at her to see her reaction. "No one was supposed to see that."

Casey shakes her head, dismissing my answer. "Lizzie was meant to see that. You wouldn't have made that video, used a song with lyrics like that, or shared a personal moment like that if you didn't want her to see it."

"If I wanted her to see it, I wouldn't have put myself through making the actual video for the party. I wouldn't have sat in front of my computer for hour after hour, trying to come up with the sequence of pictures that best showed how much Lizzie and Eric love each other. I certainly wouldn't have been so depressed about the whole thing that I went to get so wasted that I was actually _desperate_ enough to call _Julie_. I made that video for myself, to let go of everything I felt for Lizzie, to put everything I was never going to say out there, and then lock it away so I could survive this. Derek mistakenly picked up the wrong disc and all hell broke loose, end of story."

"Maybe fate has a different plan for you," Casey says, looking over at me when she pulls to a stop at a red light. "One way or another Lizzie was meant to see that."

"I don't believe in Fate," I shoot back (because if it was predetermined that I would lose Lizzie to the muscled workout wonder, whoever is pulling the strings has a sick sense of humor). "I believe in reality. And the reality of the situation is that this was just another very unfortunate misunderstanding in a series of horrible things to happen to me."

"You used to be such an optimistic young man, Edwin. What happened?"

"Eric happened," I huff, crossing my arms over my chest. "And you know this is partly your fault."

"My fault," Casey frowns. "How do you figure that?"

"You gave me the CD with all the pictures of Lizzie. What did you really expect was going to happen?" I ask.

"I wanted them to be a push toward telling Lizzie the truth about how you felt. I didn't think you would do something like this!" Casey responds, her voice increasing to a pitch not safe for human ears. "It was my last chance to convince you that you should tell her the truth. That's all I wanted. I wasn't trying to provide you with the fuel to blow everything up."

"I told you it was a mistake!" I yell back. "And she knows the truth now, and what happened? She ran out, horrified and probably hating me. I didn't want to tell her for that exact reason. That she would hate me and think I was trying to come between her and Eric. I was afraid I would lose her completely if I told her, and that's what happened."

"You think—that she—really—?" Casey breaks off abruptly. She is silent for a minute as she parks outside of my apartment building. She turns to me before she says, "You didn't watch the second disc did you?"

"I didn't," I answer, "Didn't think it would make a difference."

"You don't see it, do you? What you mean to Lizzie?" Casey sighs. "She ran because that video showed her something she was afraid to believe. She is confused and scared, but she doesn't hate you. She didn't leave because she's angry at you or because she hates you. She left for quite the opposite reason."

I don't believe her (it's not even possible for me to begin to hope that it was true). But I stay silent, because I am not in the mood to keep arguing with Casey. She doesn't say anything else and I take that as permission to get out of the car. She gets out as well and walks around to meet me in front of my car. Over her shoulder, I see Derek pull into the space next to us. Casey holds out my keys to me, but when I reach for them, she doesn't relinquish her grip right away.

She steps closer to me and says quietly, "Watch the second disc. You'll understand what I mean. Promise you will."

"Fine, I'll watch it," I agree and she lets go of my keys (I have no intention of looking at whatever may be on that CD. In fact, what I would most like to do to that disc is throw it across the room so it shatters into a million pieces. But knowing Casey she wouldn't let go until she got me to say yes).

"And don't worry about Lizzie," Casey adds. "Everything will work out in the end, I know it."

I wait until she is in the car with Derek and they are pulling away before I head up to my apartment. My head is a little foggy, overloaded by new information and racing thoughts (I need aspirin, gotta head off the headache that is just waiting to assault me). Once I am able to get my door to cooperate with my key, I stumble toward my kitchen where I'm pretty certain there's a bottle of aspirin waiting for me in a cabinet. Sure enough, there's a bottle in the first cabinet I open. But apparently locating the aspirin isn't my real problem. I am wrestling with removing the childproof lid when there is a knock at my door. I drop the bottle with a clatter and sigh (that headache is creeping into my temples and behind my eyes).

I head back to my door, saying loudly, "If that's you Casey or Derek, I want to go to bed. If you would like to nag me some more you can come back in the morn—"

I stop short because when I pull open my door, it's not Derek or Casey, it's Lizzie.

_Crap_.


	8. Guess This Is Exactly What I Deserve

**A/N: **And here is the eight chapter where we finally see the confrontation between Edwin and Lizzie. This is the real bulk of the end of the story. The next couple chapters will be a short tie up conclusion, and probably an epilogue. Chapter nine is written, just needs to be typed, and I've started writing chapter 10. I've also finished the final chapter of What Happens in Vegas. So look out for those. Enjoy. Vote in the poll to help me choose the next category for a multichaptered fic! R&R! Thanks! –Mac

**Disclaimer: **I don't own.

**Chapter Eight**

**Guess This Is Exactly What I Deserve**

"Funny the same thought crossed my mind when that video started playing," Lizzie responds, her hands on her hips as her intimidating figure fills my doorway.

_Shit. Did I say that out loud?_

"Yes, you did," Lizzie says.

This is perfect. I've even lost control of my internal dialogue. I figure this is what happens when you open the floodgates, even if by accident (and I smashed the whole dam with that video and let every little emotion I've ever felt spill out of me for everyone to see). Time to grovel, I suppose. Here goes.

"I'm sorry, Lizzie, that video was a mistake. I tried to explain to everyone else that it was never supposed to—"

"A mistake?" Lizzie exclaims, cutting me off abruptly. "Which part was a mistake Edwin? Making the video or playing for everyone we know and completely ruining my _engagement_ party?"

"Both?" I lift my hand to rub the back of my neck.

"Both!" Lizzie's eyes widen. "So you didn't mean to make that video, you just put it together by accident, and you didn't want me to leave Eric after seeing it, like I would suddenly return your declaration of love?"

One of my neighbors' doors opens and the woman pokes her head out to look at us. I shoot her a dirty look for eavesdropping and she disappears back into her apartment (my neighbors are just the worst sort of people. I guess I fit right in). Reaching for Lizzie, I pull her into my apartment and close the door on the curious ears of my neighbors, "Come in here."

Lizzie shakes free of my grasp immediately, and spins around to face me again, "You have anything to say?"

"I wasn't trying to get you to leave Eric," I defend myself. "That was the last thing I wanted to happen—okay, maybe not the _last_ thing, but that video was for me and me only. Look—"

I quickly move around to my desk. I shove aside the loose papers covering my desk, many of which fly into the air and land messily on the floor around my desk. Finding the disc buried under the mess, I grab it and take it back to where Lizzie still stands. I hold it out to her, shaking it violently (way to work out your frustrations Ed, you're gonna upset her more.

"—here's the video that was supposed to play at the party. Derek picked up the wrong disc. I wasn't trying to sabotage your engagement. You're happy with Eric. I would never try to come between that like some selfish asshole."

"I don't understand you Edwin. I just don't understand, _why_," Lizzie shakes her head.

"Why, what?"

"Why would you never say anything? Why would you keep all that you felt to yourself? Why would you make that video if you weren't going to show it to anyone? Why, if you felt this way about me, would you fuck one of my bridesmaids?" Lizzie's voice rises with each question and I have to put up my hands to halt her rambling cries (I knew all this would come back to bite me in the ass, I guess I deserve whatever she has to dish out).

"You really want the answers to questions like that?" I raise an eyebrow. (She has one last chance to leave it all alone and go back to her perfect hubby-to-be, who is probably, as we speak, getting my invitation to the wedding revoked).

"No, Ed, I just asked so I could hear myself speak," Lizzie snaps, her hands on her hips again.

"Fine," I say sharply, "I never said anything because I'm a fucking coward, okay? I never told you how I felt because I was afraid that you wouldn't feel the same way and you would hate me for ruining the friendship we have. I made that video because it was the only way I could pour out everything I felt in some kind of tangible form without ruining the little bit of fucking good I had in my life—but obviously that was still the wrong thing to do because everything went to shit anyway. And, honestly, I have no explanation for what happened with Julie. No offense, because I know she's your friend and all, but the girl is repulsive. The very thought of her turns my stomach, but I was drunk and I must be fucked in the brain somehow over all this shit because I called her—because she was the only person to even vaguely show me any kind of interest in a long time—and I will regret it for the rest of my life. There. Are you happy? Those are your answers."

I have never been so honest to Lizzie since I realized I had feelings for her. I've kept everything bottled up, but now that I've popped the cork on that cesspool of emotion, they won't stop spilling out. So when Lizzie doesn't immediately respond after my first tirade, I keep talking.

"I really shouldn't be surprised that this is where it all ended up, because ever since I realized I was in love with you, I've been waiting for that moment when I would slip up and ruin everything. I was never meant to be happy. I was never meant to get the fairytale, but you were. And you have it, _with Eric_. I love you, I love you so much it fucking tears me up inside to even think that you could be happy with someone else, but you _are_. I would never do anything to get in the way of you getting what you want. I would never jeopardize your happiness. I would rather be alone and miserable than to ever be the reason you didn't get everything you ever dreamed of. That's why that video was never meant to be seen, why I was going to watch you walk down that aisle into someone else's arms without saying a word, why I accepted that you were going to be with Eric while I spent the rest of my life regretting every missed opportunity."

There is a long silence before Lizzie says, "You're a fucking idiot, Edwin Venturi."

"I know that," I nod. "And I know that you probably hate me right now, but if you let me—"

"You are seriously the stupidest boy, I have ever had the misfortune of knowing," Lizzie cuts me off, "I can't even comprehend how you can have all that in your head all these years and say _nothing_—"

"I understand," I say, nodding again, "but if you just let me try to—"

"—and I'm not marrying Eric."

"—make it up to you," I finish my sentence and falter as I realize what she said. "You _have to_. You can't call off your engagement on my account. I won't allow it."

"It's not your decision, Ed," Lizzie says. (What is going on here? I must be dreaming. This can't really be Lizzie saying these things. It can't be real). "How could I possibly walk down that aisle and marry Eric after that little display you put on at the party?"

"I told you, it was a stupid—"

"Mistake, I know. I heard you the first hundred times. I won't deny that the video is probably the stupidest thing you have ever done in your life," Lizzie says, "but it is also the single most beautiful thing I have ever seen."

"What are you saying?"

"After watching that video, I was confused and upset because it turned everything I thought I understood upside down. But I went back to the banquet hall after everyone had left and Eric was still there. He put some things in perspective," Lizzie explains (I hope she explains the next part better because it's hard to believe that anything Eric might have said would be good for my case). "I always thought he didn't get along with you and Derek because the two of you tended to go into 'overprotective brother mode' for me when he was around. Eric told me once that he never understood why you hated him, but when we were sitting alone in the banquet hall tonight, he admitted that he had lied back then. He had always been aware of the fact that you felt more for me than brotherly affection and that you took it out on him. He said that anyone who looked closely enough could see that and that Derek wasn't being protective of me, but of you. Derek treated Eric like the kid on the playground stealing his baby brother's toys. While I didn't enjoy being compared to a _toy_ that everyone seemed to believe belonged to you, I could see what he meant. He, like everyone else around me, could see what I couldn't: I was never meant to be with him. Eric thought he had achieved the impossible when I agreed to marry him, he thought he had somehow proved everyone wrong…until I ran out tonight. He said he knew as soon as I ran out of the hall that he had lost me because I had finally figured it out. He also apologized for the way he attacked my family, which you're going to have to explain to me because I have no idea what exactly he was apologizing for but that's not important right now…he made me realize something."

Oh God, what can that be?

"What's that?"

"I realized that the only reason I was with Eric was because of all the things in him that reminded me of you. I know you saw him as just another dumb jock that had a pretty face and skills on the soccer field, but the things you didn't see—the loyalty, the intelligence, the sense of humor, the unfailing devotion to everything he loves—they were the best substitute for everything I love about you."

Fucking A, Casey was right.

I know I should say something, but my tongue isn't cooperating.

"Edwin, I knew in high school that what I felt for you was special. I also thought that you were the kind of person who said what he felt, and when you never said anything to make me think you returned my feelings, I started to believe that you couldn't possibly love me too," Lizzie continues. "Then I met Eric. At first, I thought he was nothing like you. I thought I liked him because of all the ways he was different from you. I thought he was my ticket to getting over you and I was under the delusion that I had for a long time. I love Eric, I really do, don't get me wrong, but it will never compare to the way I love you. Watching that video, and talking to Eric afterward, made me see that. That's why I told him I couldn't marry him, that's why I'm here."

I think I'm going to pass out (Please tell me this is real and not some drunken hallucination). I open my mouth to speak and the only thing that comes out is, "So you're not here to rip me limb from limb and feed me to hungry lions?"

"No. I'm still mad at you for this coming about the way it did, but I'm happy it did." Lizzie laughs lightly, "besides, where would I find hungry lions at this time of night?"

I breathe out the breath I've been holding. _This seriously cannot be really happening_.

"This _is_ really happening, Edwin," Lizzie replies (holy shit, I really need to get a handle on what I'm saying out loud), "and I'll prove it to you."

The next thing I know, Lizzie is closing the distance between us and kissing me (this is far better than anything I would ever be able to dream up, so it must be real). Her arms wrap around my neck and I can't help but pull her closer (I'm scared that if I don't hold on tight, she'll slip away again). I don't want this moment to end (I want to crawl inside this moment and live there for the rest of my life, it's that fucking good) but sooner than I like, Lizzie is pulling back.

"So you don't hate me?" I ask.

"Far from it. I love you, Ed," Lizzie says (my heart soars). "I'm pissed and you have a lot more explaining to do, but that can wait. I can be mad tomorrow, because it might take awhile, but I'm willing to let you make it up to me starting right now."

I smile as she pulls out of my arms and heads for my bedroom (there are a thousand and one ways I could make it up to her and this is the one she chooses? I think I just fell in love with the woman even more). As I follow after her, there are a million things that are running through my mind (how are we going to get past the things I've done? Is she really ready to jump into this when she ended things with Eric like five minutes ago? Am I really this fucking lucky to be a few minutes away from something I thought I would only experience in my dreams?) but only one sticks.

I guess it's about time I reevaluated what I said to Casey about Fate. Maybe there was a divine plan in all this after all (while I could have thought of a better way to get here that did not include Eric and my various fuck ups, I'm not going to argue with the results).


	9. Almost Too Good To Be True

**A/N: **So I wrote this a long time ago. I wrote a bunch of things a long time ago, but I never got around to typing them and then they got misplaced, so I couldn't post anything. It kind of threw me off, and I haven't written any new fanfiction in awhile. Then I figured out where these were and had my Mom mail all the things I had written but never posted, so everyone gets my old stuff, and I've started writing again. It's been a good week. This is the last chapter, chapter. Chapter Ten is kind of epilogue-y, even though I'm not labeling it as an epilogue. Chapter ten is also done, but it will have to wait til tomorrow because it is 2:30am and I am too tired to keep typing. But I am finishing this. It's technically already finished. It's _technically_ been finished for, I don't know, _months_. Since like July of last year. Oh well, better late than never. Enjoy. R&R. –Mac

**Disclaimer: **Me no own it.

**Chapter Nine**

**Almost Too Good to Be True**

It's hard to believe that after the night I've had I would be up in the middle of the night, pacing my living room, instead of warm in my bed and wrapped in the arms of the very beautiful, very naked love of my life (but try as I might, I can't seem to turn my brain off). Sure, Lizzie had been able to distract me from my worrying thoughts for a short while (okay, a long while, since we repeated her distracting activities _twice_), but once she was soundly sleeping, curled against my side, they returned full force. That is how I came to be where I am now, pacing and thinking and over-thinking.

Just a short while ago I was experiencing everything I had ever wished for, and that's enough to make me suspicious. If I don't tread carefully, life is likely to throw me a curveball and take all this away from me. This just can't be real. I mean, it's real, there's no conjuring up a vision vivid enough to mistake this for fantasy, but there _has to be_ a catch somewhere. I don't have this kind of luck. Things like this do not happen to guys like me. They, more often than not, happen to guys like Eric.

Which brings me back around to my main problem with believing in all this. What if Lizzie wakes up and realizes she has made a colossal mistake? (I wouldn't be able to live with myself if she did).

I know she broke things off with Eric (that's a plus in my favor), and she is in _my_ bed as opposed to being at home with Eric convincing him that my little mishap of a video changed nothing about how she felt (which has to count for _something_), but what if, in the morning, she sees it differently than she did tonight? What if this is some momentary lapse of judgment, or sanity or whatever, brought on by the stress of the night and her formerly pending nuptials? What then? What do I do then? (Die, I suppose, because after tonight I know for certain I cannot live without being able to hold her and touch her and kiss her).

I need to calm down. I'm overreacting (I do that sometimes). She's here. She wants me (it's just a little hard to comprehend that it's true) and I really have nothing to worry about, right? I force myself to take in a deep breath and release it slowly (it doesn't really help, but it's the first thing you're supposed to do to induce serenity, or so they say). A distraction, that's what I need. Something to take my mind off of it (anything, really, will do. I just have to stop thinking about it for five seconds, that's all).

Sitting down at my desk, I open up my laptop and stare at the screen for a long moment. Then I pull out the discs Casey gave me out of a drawer, slip the first disc out of its jewel case and put it into my laptop (what better distraction than Lizzie?). I set the pictures on slideshow and settle back in my chair to watch (that's better. Think about Lizzie, think about her face and her smile, think about her lips, think about her hands and her legs and how they wrap around you…okay, whoa. Well, that's not exactly the distraction I was originally shooting for).

"What are you watching?"

I tilt my head to see Lizzie coming up behind me, dressed in my button down that I had discarded earlier. She walks up behind my chair, wraps her arms around me and rests her chin on my shoulder to look at the screen of my laptop with me. I can't get a good angle to look at her face in this position, so I can't tell if she's feeling any regret (please don't regret it, _please_).

"The pictures Casey gave me," I answer simply.

Lizzie tilts her head to nuzzle into my neck and murmurs, "Are these the ones you used for the video?"

"These and others I had of my own," I close my eyes when her lips find their way to my skin. I groan as she begins to suck at my pulse point. "Lizzie, _Lizzie_, what are you doing?"

"Isn't it pretty obvious what I'm doing?" Lizzie breathes against my neck (oh it's blatantly obvious, but I mean, what are you doing to _me_, Liz? What are you doing _here_?).

"Hold on a sec, Liz," I say as I gently push Lizzie back. I turn my chair around to face her and take her hands in mine. "Lizzie, we need to talk about this."

"Didn't we talk enough earlier?"

"No, I don't think we did," I shake my head. "I think we rushed into all of this and even though we said a lot, we didn't really say enough."

"Rushed?" Lizzie frowns. "You think we rushed into this? That's what you think? I thought you wanted this. I thought you wanted _me_. Now you're saying that you regret it or something?"

Lizzie starts to back away from me. I have to jump up quickly to snatch her hands back and pull her close again. "Fuck, Lizzie, no. That's not what I meant at all."

"Then what the hell _did_ you mean?"

I shouldn't have said anything. I'm just going to fuck this up (everything was perfect, what is wrong with me? Fuck, fuck, _fuck_). I seriously can't just let myself be happy. I couldn't leave well enough alone. It's because having Lizzie seemed too good to be true—but at least five minutes ago it was at least still _true_ (I'm such a wreck. I destroy things even when I should be happy).

"I just—I wanted to—I was trying to—" I stammer (spit it out Edwin, before she runs away because you're not likely to get a second chance at this).

"Speak, Edwin," Lizzie says. "Just talk to me. It took us this long to get here because we didn't talk to each other. Don't mess it up when we're finally together for the same reason."

"There," I say (if she wants to talk, okay, I'll do my best), "there's my problem. Are we actually together now?"

"I should hope so," Lizzie answers, frowning slightly. "I don't just fall into bed with every guy who shows interest."

"I wasn't trying to imply that you did," I shake my head and lower my gaze the ground, "but you only broke up with Eric tonight and you were going to _marry_ him. I don't want you to go into this with me and then wake up and realize you made a mistake—realize you really were supposed to be with him and this was some result of cold feet and confusion."

"Edwin, you, all this," Lizzie half gestures in the direction of my bedroom, "this is me coming to my senses. Everything I had never seen was suddenly there and crystal clear—so obvious, I can't comprehend how I never saw it before. You're it Edwin, always have been. You woke me up tonight and made me realize that everything before, _that_ was the mistake I made. I thought I had explained all this earlier."

"You did," I reply, a smile creeping up on me (she really wants me, this is heaven. I've died and gone to heaven). "I think maybe I just needed to hear you say it again."

"Edwin Venturi, I love you," Lizzie says. "Don't ever doubt that."

I breathe out a heavy sigh of relief, "I love you too."

Lizzie smiles and pushes me back to sit in my desk chair. She settles between my legs and leans over to kiss me (this is perfection. Oh, don't stop now). When she pulls back, she turns toward my laptop screen. She reaches over a hand and hits a button to stop the slideshow from running. She turns back to me with a sheepish grin.

"It was weird having my face keep flashing across the screen."

"I was rather enjoying it," I respond. I wrap my arms around her waist and shift her closer so she's sitting practically on my lap—which puts her neck and lips almost in my reach, my ultimate goal now.

"What are these ones?"

Lizzie's question draws me from the fantasy developing in my mind about me, Lizzie and my desk. She has her eyes on the second disc and the third disc in her hand. I snatch the disc out of her grip and toss it over my shoulder. The sound of it hitting the floor or a wall—I'm not sure which and I don't care enough to figure out which—is satisfying as it fills my ears (I hope that fucker snapped in half).

"Okay," Lizzie laughs at my actions, confusion still evident on her face. She taps the case of the second disc, "What about this one? Should I even ask? If I pick it up, are you going to throw it across the room too?"

Suddenly, finding out what's on that disc doesn't sound like such a bad idea.

"I'm not sure what's on it," I answer, looking up to meet her eyes. "Do you want to look at it with me?"

Lizzie answers by taking the disc out of the case and replacing the first disc with it. It's another set of picture files, so I put it in slideshow view mode and sit back to watch. Lizzie curls into my arms, adjusting on my lap so she can watch too. Then the screen begins to fill with picture after picture.

"It's us," Lizzie whispers, squeezing my hand.

And so it is.

I've seen all these pictures before. Our parents and Casey and Derek have them everywhere—framed on walls, in photo albums, tucked away in memento boxes. I've always thought they portrayed the friendship between Lizzie and me perfectly. Yet as I watch them now, all I can see is how obvious the way I looked at Lizzie is. In almost every picture, when I am not smiling or making a silly face at the camera, I am staring at Lizzie with big puppy dog eyes full of desperate longing (God, how did I let that get caught on film?).

"How did I not see that?" Lizzie's voice pulls me from my thoughts. When I look up at her, there are tears shimmering in her eyes. "How could you not know with the way I looked at you?"

The sequence of photos has come around back to the beginning, and when I look at them this time through, I see what I didn't even see after my latest realization a moment before. In nearly every picture, Lizzie is looking at me with the same expression of pure adoration (And suddenly Casey's purpose for the second disc makes sense. '_to help you remember what you mean to her,'_ I get it now. Props to you, Case). Without a word, I angle myself up so I can kiss Lizzie softly.

I pull back and rest my forehead against hers. "I see it now."

Lizzie smiles her beautiful smile at me (I will never tire of seeing that) and leans down to kiss me yet again (I'll never tire of that either). The next thing I know, I'm being led back to my bedroom. I don't know if it should be this easy—and there will probably always be a little fear and doubt in me—but this is more real and genuine than anything I have ever experienced and in the end it's more than worth what I had to go through to get here. And now, for once in my life, I'm going to stop being cynical and just enjoy the life I've been given—wherever it shall lead as long as Lizzie is by my side (I mean, I'll never be a fucking sunshine and daisies optimist, it's just not possible, but a guy can try right? It seems like Lizzie's bright attitude is already rubbing off on me—and I'll save the joke about other things that Lizzie is rubbing off on me for another day).

Tonight, I am the happiest man in the world (go figure).


	10. This Is What It All Comes Down To

**A/N: **And here is the epilogue-y last chapter. This is over, done, complete…it only took way too long. Thanks for sticking with me (if you did) or getting all the way here as a new reader (nice to meet you). Enjoy! R&R! Thanks! –Mac

**Disclaimer: **I don't own LWD.

**Chapter Ten**

**This Is What It All Comes Down To**

"Uncle Edwin, wake up!" a voice yells in my ear.

I jerk awake at the sound, and try to turn over in my bed away from the source of it. Somehow, my momentum topples me right over the side of the bed and I land on the floor in a mass of blankets. I roll over onto my back to stare at the ceiling and contemplate how this has happened. The glow in the dark, cut-out stars pasted to the ceiling are the first indication that something is not quite right. Then two faces peek over the edge of the bed to look down at me curiously and then I remember: Derek and Casey's house, Quincy's room and Quincy's itty bitty miniature bed (no grown man should be sleeping on a twin bed). A snicker sounds from across the room and I sit up enough to see Derek leaning in the doorway (that bastard).

"You think this is funny?" I raise an eyebrow.

"Yes, yes I do," Derek nods, "besides, you've been sleeping here for a week, it's about time Quincy got his bed back and I just want my house to be an Edwin-free zone."

"Aw, am I that much of a nuisance?" I ask.

"I'll give you that this past year since Lizzie and you got together, you've become more _tolerable_, but the past few weeks your cynicism has reached a new level," Derek says, "I'll give you a pass for the last couple days and chalk it up to separation anxiety. Which brings me to my original point—breakfast is ready and the sooner you get out of bed, the sooner I can get you out of the house and solve all of our problems."

"Okay, I'm up, I'm up," I put my hands up for a second before I drop them to push myself to my feet.

My niece and nephew scramble off the bed and dart out of the room before me. I hear them thunder all the way down the stairs before I can even make it to the door. Derek claps me on the back as I pass by him and we start to head downstairs together.

"I'm sorry if I've been a pain," I apologize (see how grown up and mature I am, actually apologizing for my once normal behavior to _Derek_ no less), "but you know how it is. Being away from Lizzie this week has been hell and planning a wedding can do that to a guy."

"You see, that's why I didn't do any of the planning for my wedding," Derek says as we reach the bottom of the stairs, "I said to Casey, 'I'm a man and I refuse to worry myself with frilly dalliances like doilies and flower arrangements' and she had to let me off the hook."

"I heard that," Casey meets us at the entryway to the kitchen (supersonic ears that one has). She offers Derek a quick hug and kiss as he smiles sheepishly. Then she turns to me and wraps an arm around my shoulders to guide me to the table. "There's also the fact that I wouldn't let him help in the first place, because he lacks what we call, _taste_."

"Whatever," Derek shrugs. He takes his seat between Mikay and Quincy. "I did veto the whole 'can't see the bride before the wedding' thing that you and Liz have going on, and I never heard Casey complain about—"

Casey shoots him a warning look, gesturing at their kids (I would bet you a million dollars that if she hadn't cut him off, he would have rambled on into something X-rated. He might not curse anymore, but when it comes to TMIs of the bedroom, Derek is known to slip. I've inadvertently been informed of more than I ever wanted to know about his and Casey's sex life more than a few times in just the last forty-eight hours). I want to laugh, but it's probably best if I just continue the conversation like nothing happened.

"Lizzie just wants to go the traditional route with the wedding, you know, since there's next to nothing traditional about our relationship," I say as I take the plate of food Casey hands to me.

"You can say that again," Derek snorts, "but really, I wish you had waved that one tradition so I wouldn't have had to put up with your negativity for a week."

"Good to know my best man can't stand me," I say (figured I would regret that choice sooner or later).

"Hey, I love you little brother," Derek shook his head, "I did you right for your bachelor party even though you wouldn't let me hire the str—_dancers_, and we had fun together that night, but when left to your own devices, you're a handful."

Quincy tugs on Casey's sleeve and she leans over so he can softly speak into her ear, "Why doesn't Uncle Edwin like dancers?"

"Because he's a mature adult, and some _mature_ adults know how to have a good time at a party without dancers," Casey answers, glaring pointedly at Derek. Then Case puts on a smile and reaches over to pat my hand, "I think it's nice that you decided to go the traditional route—it will make finally seeing her walk down the aisle all the more special."

I smile back obligatorily, "Yeah."

"Well next time he needs a place to crash, he'll have to hit up Dad and Nora," Derek says through a mouthful of breakfast (it's good to know some things never change).

"Daddy, you shouldn't talk with your mouth full. It's not polite," Mikay says. "That's what Mom always says."

I snicker at the expression of disbelief on Derek's face after being scolded by his daughter. It evolves into all out laughter at the smug look of pride on Casey's face.

"Yeah,_ daddy_, mind your manners," I say.

Derek points a finger at me, "You, be quiet, or I'm going to start spilling the details of what happed at the bachelor party after you had a few too many."

I put my hands up in surrender, "Alright, alright, truce."

We all eat in silence for a couple minutes (all the better, because who knows what would come up if we kept talking, perhaps how nervous I am to be married by the end of the day).

Then with a confused look on his face, Quincy pipes up again, "'A few too many' what?"

O-o-O

A few hours later, I am standing at the front of the church waiting for the ceremony to start. I feel like I can't breathe (is it possible for a clip on tie to suffocate you? I'm just kidding. I'm not wearing a clip on tie at my wedding. I'm a man, and I wear a real tie…that I had to have Casey tie for me, but in all honesty, I'm still _suffocating_). My palms are sweating and I try to discreetly wipe them dry on my pants. I knew I was nervous but I never thought my heart would be racing this recklessly (I'm gonna pass out. I'm gonna pass out cold. I need some air, I need some open space, something to make me not feel so dam claustrophobic). And even though I don't really mean it, the thought crosses my mind to run out of the church (there is nothing I want more than to marry Lizzie and spend the rest of my life with her, but there is still a part of me that is afraid and that fear is kind of overwhelming me at the moment). Just when I'm sure I'm going to cause a scene by fainting at the altar, the music starts to play and the ceremony begins.

I'm still shaking as the procession begins (this is it). Little Quincy and Mikay are the first two down the aisle as the ring bearer and flower girl. Then come the bridesmaids and groomsmen (thankfully, Julie has been excluded from the day's proceedings. After the 'incident' preceding Lizzie and I getting together, Lizzie reevaluated her friendship with the she-devil and I had no complaints on the decision. And why am I thinking about Julie right now? Stop it, Edwin. Right now, stop it. Think about Lizzie. Yes, Lizzie, the woman you're about to marry. Oh Jesus, now I can't breathe again). Derek and Casey come next in the honored positions of Best Man and Maid of Honor. I feel a little better with my brother by my side (what do you know? He's good for something) and Casey gives me an encouraging smile.

Then the music shifts to the bridal march and when I turn my head, there's Lizzie. Now, I'm having trouble breathing for an entirely different reason. All my fear melts away when I see how beautiful she looks as she walks toward me. This is everything I've ever wanted. This moment is perfect (nothing, absolutely nothing can ruin it, not even anything stupid I'm prone to doing. Not today, not this moment).

Lizzie is smiling as she is passed over to me. She mouths 'I love you' at me and I whisper it back before we turn to the minister. I'm in a haze of contentment as the ceremony continues. It's a blur as I repeat the vows the man tells me to say and slip the ring onto Lizzie's finger. The one phrase that resounds loud and clear is 'I now pronounce you man and wife. You man now kiss the bride.' I pull Lizzie close and kiss her as deeply as I feel is appropriate for inside a church (it still takes my breath away). And finally, we are introduced to all of our guests as Mr. and Mrs. Venturi (I'm never going to get tired of the sound of that). Everything I've-_We've_ been through has led us to this moment and I smile unabashedly (So unlike me, but who cares. I'm fucking happy. So sue me) as I lead my Lizzie, my wife, back up the aisle to the sound of our family and friends cheering.

O-o-O

The reception is a stereotypical celebration. There's our first dance as husband and wife, we cut the cake (I refrain from smearing cake in and frosting across Lizzie's face, that is, until she decides to smash a whole slice into my face), the DJ spins some "Love Shack" and "Wind Beneath My Wings" (that latter one is a favorite, it's so _relevant_), the garter gets tossed (it's caught by some random cousin or something), the bouquet goes next (it's caught by Marti and my protective brother instincts kick in. I stop myself before I request a re-throw, but I don't miss the way Derek shadows her date for the rest of the night), and there are a bunch of very heartfelt, wonderful speeches (which I only vaguely pay attention to, while they bring Lizzie to tears from her rapt attention). My favorite moment of the night is when I finally get Lizzie alone and am able to carry her across the threshold to start our real wedding night.

I cradle Lizzie in my arms and carry her all the way to our bed. I lay her down and after shrugging out of my tuxedo jacket, I crawl onto the bed with her. Immediately, she pulls me into a searing kiss (now this is what I've really been waiting for). I pull back after a moment, but remain in her arms.

"Are you happy, Lizzie Venturi?" I ask (I love the way that sounds coming from my own lips).

"I am," Lizzie answers, smiling up at me. "Lizzie Venturi," she tests it out herself, "Edwin Venturi's wife. Somehow I knew when we all moved into your house that you Venturi men would take over everything us MacDonald women had in some shape or form. I didn't know that would include our name."

"You could always hyphenate," I joke, attempting to tickle her side through the layers of lace that make up her dress.

"No," Lizzie shakes her head, "I want to share everything with you and that includes your name."

Lizzie runs her fingers down my cheek and leans into kiss me again (well that's answer enough for me). The time for talking is done for the night and honestly what more could there be to say?

Except maybe this: "I love you, Lizzie."

And this: "I love you too, Edwin."

Call it fate or call it coincidence, but after years of missed opportunities, I finally got to the place I've always wanted to be. It doesn't matter to me if it was destined or just the way things went. All that matters is that I finally got my happily ever after with Lizzie.

It's about fucking time.

The end (or is it really just the beginning? Eh, just kidding. That's all folks, now get out of here).


End file.
